


290 - Angst at a Party

by storiesaboutvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-07-03 04:42:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15811602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesaboutvan/pseuds/storiesaboutvan
Summary: Filling the prompt “one where a girl doesn’t know ur vans gf at a partyone night and she’s like suuuper rude 2 you to get close to van and you kinda feel super bad about urself and quietly slip out for for some air, when ur gone she insults u n maybe van/ the guys explode from them holding in their comments to her all night? and they find u, flufffiesttttttt”





	290 - Angst at a Party

**Author's Note:**

> I am going to loosely interpret this request and change it a little bit. I hope you, original requester, like this fic. I hope everyone else does too. Bit of a short one this week because I’ve had a rough time and sitting down to write has been difficult. Also, the editing may be jacked on this; I need more sleep.

Every time someone walked by, you took a fake sip from the plastic cup in your hand. It was only water, but you still didn’t want to end up needing to pee. It was a party in an unknown house filled with mostly unknown people; you already felt uncomfortable enough. You already were on edge.

Never wanting to have gone to the party in the first place, you sulked around for as long as you could. When you found Van, he was sitting on a couch in the living room next to a guy you vaguely recognised. On the floor in front of them were three girls who all looked like they’d died and gone to heaven. From the doorway of the living room, you watched the girls fall in love with a drunk Van.

You kind of wanted to be able to drink, but you and Van were trying for a baby. You wanted him to be sober in solidarity. You wanted to walk over and ask him to take you home, but you were nervous and didn’t want to ruin his night. So, pacing the hallway you killed another fifteen minutes by flicking through your phone, fake sipping, and grinding your teeth. Benji appeared then, waltzing in from the backyard.

“Hey! Benji!” you called before he slipped away.

“Y/N? Didn’t know yous were comin’. How ya been?” he greeted, pulling you into an unsteady hug.

“Um. Okay. Yeah. Do you reckon you could do me a favour?”

“Suuuuuure, love. Wa’s up?”

“Van’s in the lounge. Do you reckon you could go get him for me?” you asked.

Benji looked confused, but in his drunken state felt no need to question you. He shrugged, threw his cup over his shoulder, then walked into the lounge. You only gave the briefest of glances to the liquid running down the wall and soaking into the carpet before beginning to spy on Benji and Van.

The greeted each other how all drunk members of Catfish and the Bottlemen greet each other; they cheered each other’s names then kissed each other’s faces dramatically. After that, you couldn’t hear the content of their conversation, but it was brief and resulted in Benji returning to you and saying, “Says to tell you he’s in the lounge room,”

“Yeah-no, I know that, but-”

“Y/N, ‘ave I ever told you 'bout how so many people owe their entire world to Ryan?” Benji slurred, leaning against the wall.

Frustrated, you sighed. “Yeah. I know. He’s perfect. God’s gift to the Earth and all that. Benj, I gotta go, okay? It was good seeing you,”

“No. No, Y/N. Pleasure’s all mine,” he replied, hugging you again and nearly suffocating you in the process.

Once Benji had gone, presumably to throw more full cups of drink over his shoulder, you looked back into the lounge room. You were a little annoyed that Van hadn’t noticed you lingering. Granted, you were specifically hiding, but still. Shouldn’t soulmates have some kind of spidey sense?

As you approached the group, Van clocked your movement and lit up as he recognised your face. “Baby!” he said, opening his arms for you but not standing up. Before you could ask him to move, stand, go, anything, he was pulling you down onto him.

“No, Van, we’ve-”

“Guys, guys, here she is,” Van said.

The group watched as you squirmed around until you were sitting on the couch instead of on Van’s lap. He hooked an arm around you and rested his head on your shoulder. You could feel your heart rate increase and your stomach do flips. 

Nobody likes being around drunk people while sober, but it had always made you feel particularly nervous. You had especially felt uneasy around boyfriends when drunk. 

“You’re Y/N?” one of the girls said more than asked.

“Yeah. Hi,”

“Oh my God. He’s literally been talking about you non-stop. We like, know everything about you,” another told you. 

She had meant for it to make you feel good, to make you swoon and praise Van for being a faithful drunk. Alas, the effect was not achieved. No reward for what should be the standard.

“Um. Okay. That's… nice. Van's… good… like that. Um, Van, can we just- Uh, I just got to tell you something real quick, yeah?” you said awkwardly, trying to get Van to move his head so he could see your expression.

“Is that code for you want to go fuck in the bedroom?” the guy you vaguely recognised asked. He snorted at himself, pleased, then took a swig of his beer. You could feel your cheeks burning. Van didn’t respond to the rhetorical question.

“Van?”

“Yeah, baby,” he said. It was hard to tell if he was agreeing to what you said before or just responding to his name. Either way, you stood up with enough force it jolted him into looking up at you. He immediately stood, wobbled on the spot a little, then nodded. “Alright, mate. Ladies. Real nice to meet ya all. I’ll be seein’ yous around. Watch out for this next record, yeah? It’s gonna be class.”

Van followed you from the room but started to fall behind as you weaved through the house towards the front door. “Baby! Where you going?” he called. When you reached the gate in the front yard, you started to run. There wasn’t a reason for it. Well, not one you could access consciously from within your brain. There wasn’t a voice yelling at you to move your legs faster or to get away, get away! Simply, you just ran. Van, legs as long as a baby giraffe, and under the influence, just as uncoordinated, caught up and began to jog backwards in front of you. It was an accident waiting to happen.

“Stop it, you’ll fall,” you said.

“What’s happened? Hey. Baby?”

“Van! Stop it!”

“I’ll stop if you stop!”

You yelled first, but he yelled back. Instantly, your feet stopped moving. Your body lurched forward just a little, bumping into Van’s stationary form. His pupils were huge and his eyes were watching you closely.

“I want to go home,” you said, trying to force your voice to sound sad rather than sulky.

“Baby? What happened? Did I do somethin’? What did I do?” Van asked, each word rolling too quickly into the next, giving a strong sense of building panic.

“Nothing happened. Please. I’m gonna order an Uber, okay?”

“Baby,” Van said again. He stood close to you as you got out your phone. His hands kept coming up to touch you in an attempt to provide comfort, but he stopped himself each time. Van was afraid. “Y/N? If I’ve fucked up, you gotta tell me so I can fix it,”

“You- I- Just… I just wanna go home.” The tears started to roll down your face and Van was too drunk to really help. His language of love was touch, but you were refuting any attempts at that. He watched helplessly as you sniffled, wiped your nose on your sleeve, and ordered an Uber. Trying to hide the fact he couldn’t stand straight and still, Van walked a back and forth around you. When you put your phone in your pocket, you focus was entirely on him again. “Please… stop… that,”

“What do you want me to do, Y/N? When you’re like this, I just get on ya fuckin’ nerves. What the fuck am I meant to do?”

“I don’t know…” you whined. “Just…”

“Just stop? You want me to stop being here but also be here. That don’t make no fuckin’ sense!”

“I’m not doing this on purpose,”

“Yeah, yeah, you fuckin’ say that, Y/N. But it’s always like this when we go out,” he said, exasperated.

“You make me come! I don’t-”

But he interrupted you again. His hands had begun to do what they do best - fly through the air in an attempt to make his words more sensical. “Of course I want you to come with me. You’re my girlfriend! You’re meant to want to be with me, you know? But you never want to go out anywhere-”

“Yes, I do! But you leave me by myself all the time. I just don’t like… like, parties like this and clubs and stuff,” you tried to defend yourself but could feel how scared you were getting.

“I’m in a fucking band, Y/N. All this is kinda part of it. Even if I don’t fuckin’ like it,”

“But you do! You love this attention,” you said, angry for the first time.

Van paused and looked at you. You’d wounded him out of fear, but his quietness made it worse. You took a step back away from him. That hurt him more. 

“I didn't… What did I do?” he whispered. “You’re scared. Why… Baby, what happened?” 

The softness in his voice broke you. As soon as you burst into tears, Van closed the space between you and wrapped you up tight. Rhythmically swaying from one foot the other, Van kissed the side of your face and made funny little hushing sounds that you could imagine him using on his future child. He still didn’t get it though. 

He asked again, "What happened?”

Shaking your head into his chest, you could sense that he wasn’t going to let it go. Even if he wanted, he was too drunk to know how. 

“It scares me,” you mumbled into him. 

“What scares you?”

You were surprised he’d even been able to make out your words. “I don’t know… People drinking. I don’t know… It’s okay when I’ve got you and you’re not drinking too, but… I don’t like it when you drink…”

“Do I scare you?” Van asked, his voice breaking a little. “Am I… Do I-”

“You don’t do anything. It’s not like that… I can’t explain it. I just… don’t feel good,” you said, trying to do justice to your experiences while reassuring Van that he wasn’t a monster.

It would have been easier to just have told Van about the girl. In your mind, you were purposefully calling her 'the girl,’ despite remembering her name. You didn’t want to remember her name. Or her face. Or her words. Or anything about her.

You should have told Van about the combination of events that had led to that moment. Your annoyance that he’d not offered to drink soda with you. The fear that crawled its way in whenever you were around too many drunks. Exhaustion from the same old routine of playing the rock star’s girlfriend. Not being allowed to tell anyone about the ring. Only a fiancé behind closed doors. Then, the girl.

…

Twenty minutes earlier.

“It’s because their brains mature three years slower than ours or something. So, like, even if they’re twenty-three, they’re only mentally twenty or some shit,”

“That’s bullshit. Brains aren’t gendered. It’s just 'cause girls are forced to be all mature and grow up faster. We’re, like, expected to act a certain way before boys are. So we just keep our shit together and stuff. It’s not actually a science thing,”

“No way. Boys our age are always more immature. They’re just born stupider, I swear,”

“Saying that gives them an excuse though… Like, if it’s biology then it’s not their fault and they don’t have to take responsibility for being immature,”

“Like how we use PMS as an excuse for being a bitch before our periods?”

“You do that?”

“If I’ve gonna bleed from the literal vagina for a week then I am going to milk it,”

“You’re putting feminism back ten years,”

“What’s feminism got to do with PMS?”

“Everything?”

“I get real PMS though. But it’s not mood. It just makes me eat a lot more than normal. I swear,”

“Same. I reckon when if I ever get preggo, I’ll be eaten fuckin’ pickles and peanut butter and shit in the middle of the night.”

The conversation had been like that for five minutes. The topics were dull and any moment where you thought the discussion could dip into the interesting, someone would pull it back into the monotonous. More often than not it was a girl with coloured purple hair doing the pulling. Standing in a circle of five other girls, she was directly opposite you. Not once had she directed a question to you, nor had she offered a welcoming smile when you joined the group.

You recognised some of the girls from a tour you’d visited. They were dating boys in bands, like you. 'Guess this is where I stand,’ you half-joked to yourself as you took your place. You remained silent, listening to the dialogue with nothing more than forced interest and growing anxiety. But then you tuned in with sharp attention.

“His name’s Van, right?” the girl with purple hair asked. You’d missed what had been said just prior. The others in the group nodded. “Yeah, I remember him. I was datin’ this guy that was in a band that Van’s band opened for. We hang out backstage for a while,”

“Teegs, no offence, but you say that about every good lookin’ guy that we come across,”

“Not my fault I’ve hung out with all the good lookin’ guys in London… Anyway. Did yous see if he came with anyone?”

“Some of his band is here,”

“Yeah, two of 'em. Them lot have known each other since they were kids, yeah? 'Cause Jimmy knows Van from before he was famous so maybe all the ones from then are here?”

Despite having all the answers and confirmation to the conversation, you remained silent. The red plastic cup in your hand stayed close to your mouth, and you chewed on the rim nervously. If you let them keep talking about Van and Catfish, it would be too late to mention… you know, you.

“No, I mean, did he come with a girl?”

“Christ, Teagan. You just broke up with Al,”

“Fuck, I don’t wanna marry the guy. Just wanna get close enough to, you know…”

“Count the freckles on his face,” you finished for her. Of course, you did not mean to speak at all. But, thinking about getting close to Van always made you think of his freckles.

All five girls stared at you. Teagan’s lips slowly drew up into a smirk and she tilted her head a little. The others went quiet, like you’d said fighting words or something.

“Sorry, I didn’t catch your name?” she asked you.

“Y/N,”

“Y/N, right. You got a little thing for him too, huh?”

You didn’t know if being engaged to someone qualified as having 'a little thing’ for them. It didn’t matter because your pause was telling enough. “I know them,” you said quickly, trying to save a situation you felt completely alien to.

“You know Van?”

“Yeah. Larry’s here too. Saw him before. I think Benji is meant to be coming. They all know Jimmy from ages ago, like you said,” you explained, nodding to one of the other girls.

“Do ya reckon you could introduce us then?” Teagan asked. “What’s his type?”

You. You were his type.

The way Teagan was watching you and the way her words had slowed down and become more calculated was menacing. You’d never really understand the whole 'mean girl’ trope. You’d never had catty fights or any of that anti-girl bullshit growing up. But, standing in front of you was truly a bad person, and she was using her femininity as a weapon.

“Seeing as you got a crush on him and 'ave known him for a bit, I guess you’re not his type then. I mean, no offence, but he’s pretty famous and stuff. Probably wants to be around interesting people, you know? 'Cause he’d get bored so easy,” Teagan theorised. Terrorised.

“Teegs, give it a break,”

“No, I’m just saying, like, he tours everywhere and is friends with people in bands and stuff…” she continued, despite her friend’s half-assed warning. “So, what about that introduction, huh?”

They all looked to you, too weak to step in, too weak to step out either. Before you had a chance to even contemplate your next action, two guys appeared, hooking their arms around two of the girls. They were from the band Catfish had toured with.

“Ladies,” one of them said. His eyes met yours then. “Oh! Hi!” He unhooked himself from his girlfriend and moved to hug you. As he did, he said, “Fuck. I’m so sorry, I’ve forgotten your name,”

“Hi. It’s alright. Y/N,”

“Y/N! Of course! Christ. Van talked about you so much you’d think your name would be permanently etched into my fuckin’ brain,” he laughed.

“What?” Teagan said.

“Um… Y/N is Van’s girlfriend,” one of the girls said much too late for you to be thankful. Maybe they thought you’d broken up since they knew you. Maybe they thought you were playing it cool, had a plan. Maybe a lot of things that didn’t matter because you should always try to help someone out.

Tegan laughed. Nobody else did.

“Wait, you’re serious?”

The people that knew nodded. The people that didn’t held in laughter, afraid of Tegan’s wrath.

“Plenty of other strapping young lads here, love,” the guy said to Tegan.

“Mmmm… You’re not wrong. I mean… Van’s charming in that goofy, crooked teeth kind of way. Makes sense he’d be with such a… normal, down to earth gal.”

More than wanting to spit venom back, you wanted to disappear. There wasn’t a single part of you interested in buying into the fight but you also didn’t know how to leave the situation either. You thought they’d all wait for you to make you move, so you began to try to think of one. One of the girls hooked her arm around yours then. She wasn’t either of the two you knew, nor the one that seemed to know Teagan. She had been quiet for the most part.

“Sorry to ruin your moment, Teagan, but I really gotta pee. And you know what they said about us girls; can’t do a thing alone!”

You were being pulled across the backyard, the wetness of the grass soaking into your shoes. It was just more uncomfortableness to add to the night.

Inside and in line for the toilet, the girl said, “I really do need to pee,”

“Ah. Okay. I'm… I think I’m gonna go find Van,” you replied.

“I’m sorry. About her. She’s just-”

“Not your fault,” you told the girl. She was a bystander, so she wasn’t absolved of responsibility. “See you 'round,”

“Yeah. Okay. Bye, Y/N.”

Floating through the house, you moved slowly and cautiously. You only moved into a new space when you were sure of the people in it. Destination one was the kitchen, where you replaced your chewed to pieces plastic cup with a new one. It was a security blanket. After that, you sulked around for as long as you could before actively seeking out Van.

Van wasn’t hard to find. Just follow the flow of human traffic. He was where the people were. Or, they were where he was. You watched him in the lounge room from the hallway.

…

Van took a few steps away to assess you more clearly. Whatever booze he’d consumed was wearing off very quickly. He felt under pressure, like you were a ticking time bomb and he had only until the Uber arrived to decode the night and disarm the bomb.

“I should’ve not drank too,” Van said. When you looked up at him, he saw it was the right thing to say. Encouraged, he continued, “Should’ve stayed with you. Where did you get to?”

It was a better way to figure out what had happened to you. It was a clever question.

“Um… I just…” But you were still struggling to make words. Van moved back closer to you, opened his arms and let you stand between them. He closed them around you and held you. With your eyes closed and Van quiet, you tried. “Found some girls. Was just… talking or whatever… Then there was one that said she knew you, but she didn’t know who I was,”

“What’s her name?”

“Teagan,” you answered easily. Van shrugged but didn’t offer any further recognition. “She said she knew you from like, the early days or whatever. Before me. Then she said she thought you were hot or whatever. Wanted me to introduce you guys again,”

“Wait. I'm… I’m confused. She knew you know me but…”

“I didn’t tell her 'bout us. I didn’t know why. I just… She was really… intense… Then these guys came over and they know us and told her and she got really mean and-”

“Babe,” Van said suddenly, moving to hold your shoulders and look at you. He dipped his head to look you in the eyes. “If someone’s been talking shit to you, especially 'cause of me, I’ll go sort it out right now-”

“No, Van, it’s not like that,” you said, suddenly defensive of yourself, embarrassed that you’d not handled Teagan with more salt and bite. “It’s fine,”

“It’s not fine. You’re not fine. What did she say to ya?”

“Nothing. Really. It wasn't… It wasn’t what she said. Just. Like, how she looked or whatever. It doesn’t matter. I just don’t want to be here anymore. And I don’t want to go to any more fucking parties and I just want to stay home and-”

“Yes. Babe, yes. Whatever you want. I’ll figure it out. We don’t gotta do this. It's…” Van wasn’t sure how to articulate the exact opposite sentiment to the one he showed before. He meant it though. You knew that.

“Let’s just go home,” you said quietly, reaching out for him again.

Van nodded, holding you tight and beginning to rock again. The phone in his front pocket vibrated then. You felt it against your thigh. It was just a message. Two. Three. Four. More.

“Hold on,” he mumbled, fishing the phone out. You moved enough to let him hold it behind you as he read the messages. “It’s Larry… Think he may have met that girl,”

“What?” you replied, standing straight and stepping away from Van.

“Yeah, says… Fuck these messages don’t make no sense. Ah… Says there’s some girl that's… Does she have purple hair?”

“Yeah,”

“Probably her then. Says there’s a girl… and she was talking about me and you, I think… but Larry was in the group she was talking to. If she knew me, she must’ve known Larry though. But she didn’t recognise him,”

“Short hair now?”

“Yeah, but he don’t look any different. Still just a cute little thing, ain’t he?” Van said with a smirk. “Anyway. He said he just wanted us to know he’s got our back. So… I don’t even know what that means,”

“Started some biff,” you suggested.

“Finished it. She started it,” Van corrected. He put his phone back in his pocket, then looked around, taking in his environment for the first time since following you down the street. “Come 'ere,” he said gently, reaching out for you again. “I’m sorry, babe. Been an awful night for you and I’m dead sorry I didn’t do nothing to make it better. But I’ve got you now. We’ll go home, have a cuppa, go to bed, yeah? Leave Larry to fight ya battles.”

Holding onto Van tightly, you nodded into his chest and remained there until you felt him move. The Uber pulled up and you followed Van into the backseat, letting him be the mouthpiece for the two of you.

Once you were home, Van made good on his promise. He took your hand and lead you straight to the bedroom. You sat on the bed and slumped down, half laying half sitting. While you made audible groaning noises, Van dug through the dresser drawers looking for the fuzzy flannelette pyjamas you loved most. As you changed into them with lazy movements, Van disappeared into the kitchen and brewed tea.

Van always ran hot, so as soon as he was under the covers with you, it was like having your own personal hot water bottle. Despite it meaning he roasted on stage all the time, Van was happy about his temperature; it meant you always curled around him. He knew he couldn’t always protect you and he knew there were probably better ways he could be looking after you, but when you snaked around his limbs like that he felt needed and you felt safe. And that was kinda all either of you wanted to be.


End file.
